


Broken Minds and Broken Hearts

by Folle



Series: Standing Among the Dead [1]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games), Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Come Inflation, Daddy Kink, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folle/pseuds/Folle
Summary: Dismas thinks it's right funny, that a man like him can be considered a "revolutionary". He's nothing more than a sad drunk with too many bad memories and guilt eating a whole through him. Maybe he'll make a chip in Ryan's armor, under Atlas's guidance, before his past drives him off the brink.A grocery run through the wrong part of Arcadia on the wrong day may just turn all that around for him.
Relationships: Dismas (Darkest Dungeon)/Big Daddy (Bioshock)
Series: Standing Among the Dead [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117256
Kudos: 18





	Broken Minds and Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ollieander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ollieander/gifts).



> THIS ONE GOES OUT TO MY HOMIE G OLLIE OVER ON THE HORNYE DARKEST DUNGEONES SERVER ILY <3
> 
> Fun drinking game: take a shot every time this fic says Daddy. Protip, don't because you will die of alcohol poisoning.
> 
> Also fun fact I spent seven hours making a proper Rapture timeline with all my stuff included [so have fun reading through it](https://www.tiki-toki.com/timeline/entry/1579848/Standing-Among-the-Dead/)

If Dismas had any input on the going ons of Rapture, he would want the whole sodding city to sink into the deepest trench he could fucking find. He would carry the damn thing on his back if need be. 

What was he even thinking? He never puts himself in a position where he doesn’t have a backdoor to escape from. A way for him to cut all losses and find somewhere to hole up and lick his wounds.

So why the hell did he think that coming to the bottom of the God damn ocean was a good idea?

Dismas winces at the cheap whiskey as it goes down. The shit was like gargling gasoline. If Ryan’s goons hadn’t of shut down the bar a little ways down and left it a sitting duck to be raided, he would be drinking better swill. Draining his reserves at some seedy bar until his skin turned yellow and he couldn’t stand straight.

At least this way he could still afford rent. McDonagh would kick him out on his ass if he missed one more payment. 

Dismas snorts. Fat lotta good paying on time would do. Half his tenants ended up dead in a ditch or too spliced up to care about some shit light paying rent. The Fighting McDonagh is gonna have to close down soon enough if he doesn’t want to be indebted to his dear boss Ryan. Or become a target from Atlas and his boys.

Afterall, they had an in.

Not that Dismas would want to spite his landlord like that. Lots of good folk come down this way, and despite being in Ryan’s back pocket McDonagh is an alright guy. He is a working man, and still knocks back brews like one. And if they weren’t just inane drunk ramblings, then maybe didn’t have such a soft spot for Ryan.

It’s not like Dismas took special care to hide his allegiance. Hell, none of them did. Rumor has it that once upon a time, Atlas used to come here with his girl.

Dismas’ stomach grumbls. He looked over at the pep bars on the nightstand, and the thought of eating another one made his stomach turn. 

A few shops at the market should still be open at this hour, but some spliced up asshole will probably mug him. 

It’s not as if he’s even touched ADAM. He was good enough with a gun to not need rely on some drug Fontaine's egg heads cooked up.

He's seen the kind of man you’d turn into when you started using. The fella next door, Sarmeti, is more than enough proof. He swears he heard the bastard crawling on the fucking ceiling the other night.

He grouses and rolled off his cot, slipping on boots and overcoat. It's a nice bit of relief from the biting cold. Not like McDonagh could afford to heat the damn place if he wanted to. Maybe he’ll go ask his dear landlord about some quilts and hot water bottles as compensation.

Dismas snorts, nabbing his pistol on the way out. He'll probably give him something from one of his dead tennants.

It's dangerous to take this long a walk, so Dismas decided on a bathysphere. The train would be leagues cheaper, but if he sees the inside of another train car he might get sick. Or fuel another breakdown, it's a toss-up really.

The market's eerily quiet this late at night. Every small noise or groan makes him and every shop keeper constantly look over their shoulder. 

They're hesitant to do business to him with his pistol out on show like this, but once they see how clear his eyes are and how steady his hands are, they are more than willing. One more able body between them and the “splicer hoard”.

Hoard, yeah right. That’s how Ryan likes to push it. Now, Dismas isn’t saying it's right of Atlas to order his men to hop themselves up with every plasmid and tonic they can get their hands on. It makes them a liability, uncontrollable. Hell, they attack their own men half the time.

Dismas considers himself lucky he's one of the more recognizable people in Atlas’ gang. He shakes his head. Not gang, revolutionaries. That's something he's going to have to get used to. 

Some of the merchants are gathered in one of the butcher’s shops, sipping on watered down merlot and eating some kind of pie made from potted meat that makes Dismas’ nose crinkle. He doesn’t think there are enough spices and vegetables in the world to mask the smell or taste of it.

“Dismas, what a surprise!” the butcher shouts, cheeks rosy. “What can I do you for?”

Dismas lifts his arm up briefly to show a bag with some veggies in it. “Makin’ stew. Got anything on sale?”

“You mean other than cod?” He laughs at the face Dismas makes. “Don’t you worry, I just slaughtered a fresh batch of rabbits this morning. Nice and chilly thanks to Fontaine’s boys.” He sighs, heading back to his freezer while the others get a sullen look on their face. “It’s a shame. He was one of the nastiest crooks in Rapture, but damn if he didn’t cook up some crazy shit in those labs of his. Did a bit of good around here too for the vagrants”

Dismas pulls his kerchief up over his mouth. “Yeah, a shame.”

“Didn’t you used to work down in the fisheries?” The chicken lady asks, leaning on the counter. “Did you ever meet the man? What was he like?”

“Nothing much to say. Real piece of work. An okay boss to have, he was pretty generous. Wanted to make sure we didn’t wind up in one of his poor houses.”

She hums and takes a long sip. “That’s about what I expected from a man like him.”

The butcher hands a chilly, parchment wrapped package over, and Dismas stuffs a handful of bills over. “Keep the change,” he mutters, stowing the rabbit in his bag.

“Have a nice night now!” the butcher shouts after him. “And have a happy new year!”

Dismas ignores him and heads back to the bathysphere. He makes a pit stop to send the groceries to his place through the pneumo. No use in getting robbed when this suffices.

He just hopes Sarmenti doesn't steal them again.

He cuts through the Hills, because Christ is not seeing a single fucking plant was really driving him up the wall. The fresh oxygen, well fresh was a bit of an exaggeration, clears his head. Even surrounded by trees and flowers and bushes, the air still tasted stale and salty. 

Dismas isn’t in much of a mood to get involved with any kerfuffles, but he still keeps his pistol out and ready. Those saturnine fucks are usually up to no good. Dismas isn’t really in the mood for someone to try and use him as a human sacrifice.

But he hears feral screaming, bolts of electricity being thrown around, and what was likely some idiot with a pipe trying to crack open someone’s skull. 

Dismas sighs and hides near a door. Saving some poor schmuck from splicers always works in a pinch to recruit them.

He can hear five screeching voices, and really recruitment aside, Dismas should leave. Splicers are stupid in the fevered pitch of battle, and easy enough to kill. But what they lacked in smarts, they make up in numbers.

But then he hears it.

An ear splitting whale groan that makes him see double.

“Take off your mask! Take it off!” someone screams, smacking his pipe against something metal.

Dismas glances around the corner and - yeah, one of those Big fucking Daddys. Vicious fuckers that Dismas has a strict rule against fucking around with. They can pin you to the wall with those rivet guns in the blink of an eye and gut you with a well placed drill. 

At least that’s what happened to the junkies he worked with. They never could quite resist the temptation of those Little Sisters and their bellies full of slimy slugs.

The thought makes Dismas shudder. Fuck the bitch who created those little monsters.

He hears a sickening thud as what must be a Little Sister is kicked across the room. She should be crying or screaming, but she’s deadly silently. Like she’s asleep. Or, and Dismas shudders at the thought, she’s dead and the Big Daddy is going to tear the fuckers a new one.

He’d seen a sisterless Daddy before. They were inconsolable, and quite frankly the site of one either crying or rotting in their suit at a Gather’s Garden disturbed him. And Dismas had seen a man eaten inside out by fish while he was still kicking.

He hides back around the corner and takes in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Okay, he should just leave, no need to get involved. Leave the Daddy to kill the splicers and double back to the market. 

But the thing is, these Big Daddy’s are pretty useful. Nothing can mop up the spliced assholes that seem to infest Rapture. If you keel your distance and hide your guns, they're a garunteed a safe path home. 

Well, only they were headed the same way. Dismas didn’t know how much brains those Daddy’s had left anymore, Lord only knows what they went through to be like that.

A splicer comes flying by him, something bundle in her arms. Definitely the sister, but she's all wrong. Limp, blood oozing from her head- but still breathing. He thinks. She almost looked like a normal little girl.

“Hey bitch!” he finds himself yelling, cocking his pistol.

The woman stops in her tracks, deformed mug snarling. “Don’t you dare disrespect me!” she screams. All it takes is one well placed pistol shot to shut her up.

Dismas rushes to the corpse as soon as it collapses. He extracts the little girl from the splicer’s arms. 

She still has latent warmth, but her body is limp as a doll and her chest doesn’t move.

He drops her, scuttling backwards until his back hits a wall.

Dead bodies are nothing new, but Christ… Dismas digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and tries to shake the image from his head. Mentally burn it with a fucking flamethrower and toss the ashes into the ocean. 

He only gets up when he hears the fighting in the other room die down. Either he's going to be torn apart by a gang of matron splicers, or a righteously pissed off Big Daddy. He should run, like, really run. 

The heavy thuds of the Daddy’s boots freezes him in place.

The wail it lets out when it sees the still body of the Little Sister nearly knocks Dismas on his ass. It makes his heart ache, and he has to turn away when the Daddy drops to his knees with a resounding thud.

“Th-there was… She was already dead.” Dismas doesn’t know what possessed him to speak up. It’s not like those things can even understand him. He’s grateful it doesn’t budge. “I’m sorry.” 

It makes a small noise, a deep, rumbling grunt. 

Dismas blinks rapidly. “Huh?” He gets up to his feet. It couldn’t be… “Do you… Understand me?” he asks, as if the Daddy in front of him were a babbling child, and not a half a ton behemoth that towered over him.

If anything, Dismas is the one that is towering. It's hunched over, cradling the Little Sister’s corpse to his chest as he made a noise that Dismas could only akin to crying. It's more was a gratning whine, but Dismas takes liberties with his imagination.

Unsure of what to do exactly, Dismas places a hand on its shoulder. “Hey now, no use doing that.” He uses the tone of voice he’d use when his boy would come home, banged and beaten up.

The groan the Daddy gives is one Dismas knew all too well. Sometimes it can’t be helped skirting close to a Sister when you need to squeeze by somewhere, even if you risked getting pushed back by her Daddy when she screams.

Dismas backs off, putting his hands in the air. “Listen, she’s dead, I get it. I’ve been in the same spot as you pal,” he rubs the back of his neck and pulls his kerchief up over his mouth. “You drive yourself crazy, blaming yourself, going over how you could’ve done things differently. But you can’t change the past, so you need to get up, dust yourself off and move on. I know you Daddys have your brain scrambled and don’t know up from down without your little girls. But I'm just hoping you understand what I'm saying. And won’t go crazy and smash my head in with a drill.”

Dismas thinks it’s going to do exactly that when the Daddy hauls itself up. Little girl set on the ground reverently, of course. But the thing plops a hand on Dismas’ head. And damn does he nearly buckle under the weight. His knees almost giving out didn’t help either.

It gives an almost pathetic sounding noise, and quite literally crushes Dismas to it's chest. 

All the air rushes out of Dismas' chest when that drill clad arm slings around his back. If it isn't for the gloved hand stroking and mussing up his hair, Dismas would've fainted. In a totally manly I'm-about-to-die way.

Dismas can't get his arms around the thing's back, so he settles for patting the Daddy’s chest. "There there?" It takes all his nerves and willpower to suppress the warble in his voice.

And the damn thing, it lifts Dismas straight off his fucking feet. Like he weighs nothing.

"Hey! Put me down!" He tries squirming, but the Daddy holds onto him tighter.

The storage room it dumps Dismas in smells rancid, and far, far away from any of the well traveled foot paths. It sets him down on a crate, patting his shoulders.

The thing makes it a point to remove its drill, something Dismas didn't know was possible, and attaches it to the back of his suit. 

Holding Dismas by the wrist, it places it's hand in his palm.

Not wanting to upset it, Dismas studies the back of the Daddy’s glove. At least, that's what he thinks it wants. There's a strange little symbol etched into it.

Now, Dismas wouldn't exactly call himself an educated man. He wasn't an egg head who could whip up a plasmid cocktail or patch up a fritzy turret. If it hadn't of been for his roommate in his younger days being a college man, he wouldn't have been able to recognize the symbol.

"Kzee? Xi? Is that what you're called?"

It makes another noise, and Dismas huffs. "Yeah I know it's not your actual name, but that's what you're called?" It makes a noise of confirmation.

Dismas doesn't know what's under that suit exactly. He's heard horror stories, about how their faces were mangled from ADAM and stretched all the way to their shoulder. Or that their skin was grafted into their suits.

He'd seen a sliced up Daddy before, and knew that it wasn't exactly true. They looked almost normal, like they could be one of the guys floating on the outside of the city, patching damage.

Every Daddy reminds him of a friend he once had who did that. Until he up and left one day. Dismas has no clue where he is, but the guy was always a flight risk. 

He can only hope he managed to hack a bathysphere and got himself out of this hellhole.

And Dismas gets a stupid idea. Probably his worst ever. Because the thing is, he missed his friend a whole lot. They had one of those special friendships that involved meeting up once a week for blowjobs in Dismas' bathroom. 

So it's been a while. Couldn't bring himself to mess around with anyone else. And this Daddy is awful tame… Sometimes Dismas likes to be a little risky.

"Stop me and I'll stop." He goes for his lowest, most seductive voice he can manage, but it comes out all wrong. His fingers trace the seal on Xi's crotch. 'Course his friend told him where that was during one of their quickies in the chambers that lead to the sea.

Xi doesn't say anything, doesn't make a noise, doesn't move. It probably doesn't even know what Dismas is planning.

The cock Dismas slips out is thankfully normal, all things considered. A lot bigger than most guys, thanks to ADAM, he supposes. 

Or maybe all that mental conditioning pumps the Daddy’s testosterone way up, to make them aggressive as they are. But it's chaffed and bruised, which comes as no surprise.

Dismas' entire body trembles when he licks a stripe up the underside of his flaccid dick. 

And oh fucking Christ it gets bigger. 

The guy is already leagues bigger than Dismas when soft, and Dismas isn't exactly small, and he's a fucking grower.

Xi makes a curious sound, and tries tilting his head to the side. It puts its hand back on Dismas' head, and surprises the man by jerking forward and rutting against his face.

Dismas is just grateful that it missed his mouth. That thing would probably crack his esophagus if he deep throated it. He does get precum in his eyes, as penance.

And fuck, if Dismas doesn't need that is his ass right away. 

Thankfully, there's a bottle of sunflower oil within reach. Perks of fucking in an abandoned storage room in Arcadia. 

He lets Xi do what it wants, despite how debauched it makes him feel. Dismas wiggles his trousers down and begins preparing himself.

It's at full hardness, bulky as Dismas' own forearm, when it notices what the man was doing and heaves him to his feet.

Dismas was only three fingers in when he's thrown over a crate tall enough to leave his feet dangling. "W-wait…" he stutters, trying to look back at Xi. It presses it's cock between Dismas' cheeks. And while Dismas was liberal with the oil, there is nowhere near enough for that thing.

It thrusts between his cheeks, gripping and spreading them. Its clunky and awkward, and hotter than it has any right to be.

Dismas moans and collapses against the crate. But he perks right back up when he feels the head of it's cock against his entrance. "Oil! Please, use the fucking oil!" Dismas cries.

It snatches the bottle from the floor and upends the bottle over his cock and Dismas' ass. It thrusts a few more times for good measures, before pushing in.

Dismas would tell it to go slow, but fuck, it feels like he's being split in half. Anything he wants to say comes out as a choked gasp as he rides the pain. The thing goes balls deep, and it's like someone has shoves a rod up Dismas back. He props himself up on shakey elbows, and looks down at himself.

His stomach his fucking _bulging_. He can see it moving inside him as Xi ruts shallowly. Dismas' cock jerks at the sight, and he has to restrain himself from cumming right there.

Xi seems to have had its fill of rocking inside him. It pulls out almost all the way, and thrust to the hilt in one right movement that knocks all the air from Dismas' lungs.

There's no way in hell it can fuck right into his prostate, but it's girth rubs up against it with each thrust. Which only seem to get faster and more violent. 

Xi can't really moan, not in the sense Dismas can, but he's content in the deep rumbling in its chest and occasional keening groan. 

Dismas doesn't give two shits if Ryan himself walks in, he's never felt so full in his life. There pain has subsided into the delicious burn of being stretched so wide.

Even when Xi winds back for another thrust, there is no relief, no relent. Dismas can't stop the moans from spilling out from him like he's some greenhorn whore on her first night.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, just like that," It's been a long time since he has, but Dismas lets out a long, high pitched whine. His brain feels like it's melting out of his ears. "Fill me up Daddy," he babbles. What he says doesn't really hit him, until he’s cumming all over his shirt and the crate. 

It’s in Dismas’ top five orgasms, possibly bumping number one down to number two. For moments after, he can’t catch his breath, and his head spins. And once he realizes what slipped out of his mouth before he came, he clasps his hands over his mouth.

But Xi doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, or even snap Dismas' neck. In fact, the breathing behind his helmet becomes labored. A Daddy breathing that heavily is something Dismas never thought he would hear.

“Oh you like that, huh?” A little smirk crosses Dismas’ face. He’s completely fucked out and caked in sweat, among other things, and in no place to be teasing, but he can never resist it. “Does Daddy like fucking my tight ass? You like watching it spread around your prick?”

Xi flips Dismas onto his back (spreading his spend all over the back of his coat), and slips back in all too easily. It jostles Dismas with each thrust, and fuck, he can see the cock bulging through his stomach so clearly now. If Dismas was about 20 years younger, he would be raring to go again. 

"Oooh Daddy, fuck me harder! P-please fill me up with your milk." It doesn't even sound like him begging. But it riles Xi up, who tries folding Dismas in half. He hasn't had his thifhs pinned to what he was laying on in quite a while, but Christ has he missed it. Xi slips even deeper, if that was even physically possible.

If there's anyone who can give reality to "rearrange my guts" it's going to be Xi.

His cock does manage to twitch in interest, and get the beginnings of a chub. Not enough for another round when Xi pushes as far as he physically can, and shoots his thick, hot load into Dismas.

The skin of his abdomen twitches with the pulse of each rope of cum. It has nowhere to go but up, and Dismas squirms as he feels it moving through his guts, filling them up. By the time Xi is done, which is about a minute, give or take, Dismas’ abdomen has swelled as if he had just eaten a decent meal.

He doesn’t know if it reached his stomach, but it sloshes and squishes inside of him when Xi pulls him up to sit. Too far up to even come rushing out when he stands and pulls his trousers up with shaking hands. 

Xi doesn't bother to tuck his dick back in, so Dismas gives him a curtosy wipe with the edge of his overcoat and does for him. However, Xi does lean down and press his porthole to Dismas' forehead.

It startles Dismas still. He instinctively reaches up and rests his hand on the chilling curve of Xi's helmet. It seems so strange, but so natural to do so.

"If you- if you're not opposed to it," Dismas struggles to catch his breath. "This doesn't have to be a one time thing. We can head back to my place, and you can stay there. If you want. I mean, if you don't have anywhere else to go. Don't even know if you you Daddys sleep, or have a home base or whatever." Dismas sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

Hitting on a Big Daddy was a new one for him. But essentially asking the think to be his blighted boyfriend is just nuts.

Okay, maybe he just feels bad for the palooka. He can rationalize that. Sex in exchange for what, a bodyguard? Or more sex? Or helping the bastard out in exchange for sex?

Dismas doesn't know. All he does know is that it'll involve sex. Lots of sex, hopefully.

The big lug nods his head, which looks more like he's bowing. It makes another one of its noises, less grumbly and murdery, more like Dismas was one of his damned Sisters.

"Alright then, Daddy, let's go home."

If there is one perk of having Xi as his buddy now, is everyone on his path home, McDonagh included, is too busy gawking to notice his extended stomach or squirming when he moves too much.

"A blasted Daddy, Dismas what have you gotten yourself into now?" McDonagh sighs when he passes by him. "And your groceries came to my pneumo, again. Use the public one like everyone else."

"You know me Bill, always unpredictable. Tell you what, I'll compensate you with as much rabbit stew as you can stomach."

McDonagh leans against the wall. "You any good at cooking?"

"I'm not bad, persay. I can promise you won't get food poisoning."

McDonagh pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dissy, I've had a very stressful day, I'm not in the mood for any of your games."

"It's fine, my ma's own recipe. Can't say it'll good as hers, but it'll be pretty damn good." Dismas puts a hand on McDonagh's forearm. "You alright."

"Yeah, yeah. Jus'... Quit the city council. Can't do this any more…"

Dismas' eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "You what now?"

McDonagh looks around, before leaning in. "Ryan's off his rocker. He's becoming everything he tried to escape on the surface. But because it has his branding, it's suddenly alright. I used to be Ryan's man, someone he could come to for advice, but he won't listen. Everythings's getting worse and worse, and every common thread is Ryan. Someone's going to need to take drastic measures, and I think-"

The radio on McDonagh's hip crackles to life. "Mr. McDonagh, we've got a serious fucking problem in the welcome center. Big problems." In the background, Dismas can hear screaming.

McDonagh sighs, which has become something of a nasty habit of his. He picks up the receiver. "You don't need to call me for every bloody flood-"

"No it's not that Mr. McDonagh. There was a bomb- the splicers are attacking the Kashmir, sir. Atlas's men are slaughtering everyone-" The poor son of a bitch on the other end is cut off with a bang and a wet gurgle.

"McDonagh?"

"You and your Daddy get to your room. We're locking up for the night."

"I didn't know about this, the attack."

"Didn't say you did. Now get on up, and don't let anyone but me in. There's going to be a lot of angry folk out tonight."

"What do you think'll happen? To Rapture?"

"Her citizens are preparing for war. The only thing I can see happening is she's gonna fold like a house of cards."


End file.
